Scenes of All Eternity
by Cici Railyn
Summary: People seeking their freedom gravitate to the Grand Line. Just because I come from another world entirely doesn't mean I'm any different. It's here that I hope I can find a way to live for myself—and as myself. Self-insert.
1. Chapter 0: introduction

My stomach growls. I check the time—8:17pm. _Damn_ , I think, _again?_

"Bit of a bad habit you got there," a concerned voice states, just over my shoulder. "You ought to take better care of yourself."

I freeze. My family's gone; parents out for the night, siblings away at a camp. The door was locked and bolted, and the spare keys were behind a different lock. For once, I had unplugged my headphones, so if someone had forced their way in, I would have heard it. It wasn't exactly a big house.

A wry chuckle. "Don't worry too much about that. You couldn't have done anything even if you had heard something."

Okay, whoever this is, they're scary good at—

"—guessing? Not quite."

A chill runs down my spine. Half of me wants to turn, to get it over with, and the other half would rather not know.

Curiosity wins out. I spin in my chair. Nothing. I stand up, walk the short distance to the stairs and peek up, thoroughly unnerved. Still nothing.

"You can stop that now," interjects the voice, still from right behind me. "You won't find anything."

Startled, I whirl. Of course, there isn't anything there.

"I'm not _physically_ here. I can't be, honestly; bit hard without a corporeal body. Not that it really matters, but you know."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like."

So I'm talking to a ghost.

"That's pretty far off-base. Give it another shot, and maybe try thinking this time."

So I'm talking to a mind-reading smartass.

"Not inaccurate."

"Can you just give me a straight answer?"

"Well, that's no fun."

"Fuck fun. I," I gesture meaninglessly at myself, struggling to keep my breathing under control, "am doing my _goddamn_ best not to collapse into a worthless bundle of nerves, and I'd really appreciate having something solid to hold on to!"

A sigh breezes past my ear. "Fine. Y'know that lazy fanfiction trope that you hate? Nice to meet you."

I squeeze my eyes shut, cradling my face in one hand. "A random omnipotent being. Is that what you're saying? Is that _really_ what you're fucking saying?"

"Ugh. Speaking broadly, yes. Realistically, no. I'm not omnipotent; there are things I can't do. I generally tell people to go with 'reality warper.'"

"Right. Sure. Reality warper," I grit out, desperate to maintain my confident facade.

Something heavy hits me in the back of the head. After thoroughly exercising my vocabulary of expletives, I turn and glance down at my feet to see a glinting, intricately-detailed trophy, sculpted lovingly into the shape of a hand with its middle finger extended. I pick it up, noting the engraving on the base.

"Here's your stupid proof," I mutter to myself, eyes flicking over the letters.

I continue to look over the trophy, turning it over in my hands. When I find myself holding it upside down, I stop, squinting at the bottom. Is that…yep. I place my fingers on the disc cut out of the marble surface and attempt to spin it. It comes loose easily, the threaded sides rising into view. Once I find it refuses to unscrew any further, I take hold of the edges and lift.

I frown. Those are individually wrapped chocolates, I think? Pulling one out, I unwrap it, taking care to avoid ripping the foil, to find that yes, this is dark chocolate, and it too is molded into the shape of a hand, middle finger extended. Not quite as good of a likeness, though, I note as I pop it into my mouth. Probably just because chocolate doesn't hold detail as well.

"Okay, that's reasonably convincing. Why...that, though?" I ask, fumbling the words around the treat. The bittersweet taste manages to ground me, keep my voice from wavering.

"Honestly, mouthing off to everyone at least a little bit is just automatic at this point. It's a better coping mechanism than _certain others_ manage..." the voice grumbles.

I can only sigh. Yeah, someone with the power to shape existence itself at their leisure could do a lot worse than just being rude.

The chocolate continues to melt in my mouth, spreading across my tongue in a velvety puddle. I wait in silence, until I've swallowed the last few drops, and finally manage to speak again, head bowed as I fidget with the trophy still clutched in one hand. "What do you want?"

"What do I want? What do you mean, 'what do I want?'"

"What are you trying to accomplish?" Why are you bothering with me, I don't say, even though I know they know I'm thinking it.

"...Call it a hobby. I find people like you, and I ask them a question."

I raise my head fractionally, even though I know I can't actually look at them.

"What do you want most, right now?" they continue.

What do I want most? If they're implying that they can give it to me...there's gotta be a catch.

"There's always a catch, kid," the voice points out, sounding so very tired. "Everything's got a price. Just...figure out your answer, and we'll cover that afterwards. Alright?"

Right. Sure, I can humor the bodiless entity who could probably erase me with a thought. No trouble at all. What do I want most?

Unbidden, I find my thoughts wandering over the last few years of my life. Five years, at least, that I've felt trapped, with no recourse. Trapped at school, trapped at a dead-end job. Trapped in my own house, my own life, my own body. Nothing I can do.

What do I want? I want out. I want to _not be trapped anymore_.

"Freedom, then? Damn sight better than a million bucks, I'll tell you that much."

A humorless laugh drops from my lips. "Yeah. No clue what I'd do with that much money."

"Freedom isn't something that someone else can just give you. Not even someone like me. You know that, right?"

My eyes burn with welling tears, and I give a sharp, jerky nod.

"What I can do, though, is give you a shot. You'll still have to reach out and take that freedom for yourself, but I can move you closer."

"W-what?"

"I'm saying you got dealt a shit hand, kid. And if you let me, I can stack the deck for you."

"If I...let you?"

"I'm not like those egotistical jerks you read about. I'm not gonna do anything like this without your permission. If you decide to turn me down, I'll leave, and never come back."

"And if I say yes?"

"...Then _you_ will probably never come back."

I stiffen, something wet sliding down my cheek. "What?" I repeat in what is barely more than a breath.

"I can get you there, but at no point can I bring you back, if you decide you want out. It's another one of those things I can't do; once you're out of here, you're beyond my reach. I'll be able to send a message or two, and I'll be able to watch, but that's it."

"But...in those stories..."

"Again, I'm not like those jerks. We've all got our limits, somewhere. They won't even bother approaching theirs because they're too busy trying to make people think they're something they're not. I'm a bit more willing to go to the edge, and what I've got in mind would definitely be pushing it."

Another tear trickles over my skin. I can't speak, can't even open my mouth. I don't know what I'd say if I could.

"I'm not saying there's no way back. But just like with that freedom, if you decide you want one, you've gotta get it for yourself—and it won't be easy."

I...no. No. "I can't," I manage, taking a few slow steps over to the sofa so I can sit, staring down at my feet.

"You can't, you say?" The voice is in front of me now, and I reflexively look up. There's a mirror on the wall in front of me, and my head is just visible above its bottom edge. My hair, long and swept back, is starting to fall into my face a bit; I brush the offending strands behind my ear. The image of me is small, so I can barely tell I'm crying, but the expression on my face...I look away.

"Thinking about what other people might want or need, that's not a bad thing. I know you don't want to leave your friends or your family to wonder what happened to you. I know you've got stuff here you want to finish. But I told you, freedom is something that you need to take for yourself. If you put what everyone else wants over what you want, you're just turning the key on another set of shackles."

"I...I get it, alright? But I can't stop. I can't stop it! I just...I hate seeing other people hurting when there's something I can do to stop it." More tears, squeezed from the corners of my eyes. I remove my glasses, noting somewhere in the back of my mind that there's specks of liquid on the inside, and wipe at my cheeks.

"And like I said, that's not a bad thing. But being hurt isn't always a bad thing either. Sometimes, it's just something that needs to happen."

"I know that, too! But...I'm stuck. I just...can't get out from under all this."

"That's exactly what I'm offering. A way out." The voice grows solemn. "Look, I get it. If you leave, you'll have regrets. I promise, with everything I am, that I'll take care of it. Everything on this side, I'll handle it; it'll all be fine. Just make this decision based on what _you_ want. Forget everyone. It's your choice, and no one else's."

"I..." My throat closes around the words as I try to speak them. My shoulders are shaking, and I can barely see through the burning. I need a moment.

"Sure. I'll leave you for...oh, five minutes? Sound good?"

I've barely nodded when I somehow feel a presence leaving. Five minutes. Right.

I haul myself to my feet and stride towards the staircase, left hand latching onto the railing with a deathgrip. My glasses dangle from my fingers, my right hand barely able to hold them well enough to keep them from falling. I turn a corner, pass through the kitchen, and make a beeline for my cat.

I've lived with her...god, it's got to have been at least fifteen years. She's old, and weak, and far too light. One of her teeth is gone, and she's incredibly grumpy, constantly yowling at me to do who knows what any time I climb out of the basement in the middle of the night.

I sprawl out next to her on the sofa, glasses forgotten on the floor, resting my head lightly on her side and looking her in the eyes as I stroke her head. For a while now, I've been afraid she'll die any day, just of old age.

I already know what my answer will be. I'm not going to be around to see her last day, and I'm not sure if that knowledge is better or worse than the uncertainty.

I spend my five minutes listening to her squeaky purr, fingers running through her fur, and apologies running through my head. Apologies to my parents, to my siblings, to my cat. To my friends, the people who made everything bearable. I'm so sorry. But I can't not take this.

The presence returns, and I hug her one last time.

"So?"

I don't say a word. I don't need to. And then I'm gone.

* * *

 **~X~**

 **The cat leaves, sensing something amiss. She hops down and slinks away, past the abandoned pair of tear-stained glasses and down the stairs, to her second-favorite napping spot, and the attention of the voice shifts.**

"Sometimes, all you need is a kick in the pants. Right?"

 **They're speaking to me. I can't see the room. I'm not even there. But they're speaking to** _ **me**_ **, somehow.**

"I know how much you hate this. But you've seen some proof that it can be done right, recently. That was the first shove."

 **...The Handyman.**

"The initials R.O.B. were never once mentioned, but they had all the boxes checked. And you still loved them."

 **I did. Even in other stories I read that used that device, I hated it, but the Handyman felt real.**

"The second shove was your friends. Your newest friends, to be specific. They pushed you to do something you didn't think you could do, and you loved it. You were always capable, you know that now, but you were too afraid."

 **Putting myself out there like that, it's...terrifying.**

"Welcome to life. Anyway, point is, you got your kick in the pants. And you still didn't do _shit_."

 **What do you mean? I'm here at the keyboard, aren't I?**

 **The voice laughs.** "Only because I've forced your hand," **they state, and I can feel them grinning smugly, in the spaces between the letters.**

 **That can't be right. I'm writing you.**

"Sure. But there's one thing you've believed for a good, long time."

 **I wait, fingers tapping against the keys, the clacking setting a tempo for my swiftly-beating heart.**

"Somewhere out there, every story is true in a world its own."

 **I can hear a silent laugh, sly and condescending, and I know from the shivers in my spine that I won't sleep well tonight.**

" _Even this one._ "

 **...They're not done. This would be the moment to end, if I wanted to end this introduction on a tense note. I do, it's perfect. But here I am, still typing. They've got more to tell me. I try to stop my fingers, but the words keep flowing.**

"She knows where she's going, or at least, she's got a good guess. You know too, though of course you're a bit more clued in. I'll leave you to it, but there's one more thing I want to say first."

 **Their tone has no more malice in it. I can hear from their black-on-white words on the screen as they appear, that their voice has taken on a hint of kindness, of pity.**

"All that I said to her, about how caring for others can be a shackle, if you let it. About how in the end, you need to make choices for yourself.

"It applies to you, too, you know."

 **...I know. I'm trying.**

"That's really all anyone can ask of you. Good luck."

 **The presence vanishes. The glasses on the floor go with it, the final remaining part of this other version of myself erased from her world. Hesitantly, I conclude the scene, and...it's done. It's out there.** _ **I'm**_ **out there. I won't,** _ **can't**_ **hide myself anymore. All I can do now is move on, and hope.**


	2. Chapter 1: the instinct

The next thing I know, I'm falling. And landing. Right on my face, in the dirt. Ow. At least I didn't land on pavement or anything; I'd imagine that could have broken my nose. As it is, I count myself lucky I can't feel any blood dripping from my nostrils.

My ears twitch when I hear—wait. That doesn't seem right. My ears are twitching?

Vaguely, I can hear someone (probably an old man, judging by the sound of their voice) grumble something about, "barely even in the Grand Line," and "too old for this kind of crap." I'm not really paying much attention, because my ears _moving like that_ , which they _should not be able to do_ , is a little bit more concerning right now.

From a brief review of the signals being fed back to my brain, I manage to piece together that my ears are now situated quite a bit higher on my skull, and can swivel, much like an animal's.

Hold on. I think I have an idea of what's going on.

I take stock of the rest of my body. My nose feels like it's farther away from my face than it used to be. There's a lot of extra sensations off by my tailbone, which I can assume are coming from an actual tail. I've got this warm, fuzzy feeling all over, and surreptitiously rubbing two fingers together produces a sensation that I can only compare to tangling my hands in my hair. And finally...

I've kept my eyes closed for the whole thing, just to make parsing all this new information easier, but now, they flutter open unbidden, revealing green grass and the sturdy stone of a tower. The corners of my mouth tug upwards for just a moment.

A small part of me wants to leap to my feet and scream joy to the heavens, though that part is buried far beneath a mountain of introversion and anxiety. Maybe I'll indulge it some other time. Another part wants to profusely thank the reality warper, who I only now realize I never asked for a name, or even just something to call them. That, I do silently, hoping that whatever limits they have, and whatever they call themself, they can still understand just how grateful I am.

There's a prickling in the corners of my eyes as a hand taps my shoulder. "You awake?" comes the question from...about a foot and a half away, I think?

Shifting, I prop myself up on my elbows as I rub at my eyes with my knuckles. I open my mouth to respond in the affirmative, but before I can even take a breath, he mutters, "Well, that's something. Don't suppose you can tell me what the hell happened to you?"

My head swivels to face the speaker. As I'd guessed, it's an elderly man, his white beard and sideburns contrasting the brightly-colored shirt he wears. Framing the top of his head is a semi-circle of what look like flower petals, purple fading into yellow at the tips. I recognize him, though I've of course never seen him in person. His name is on the tip of my tongue, but I don't quite say it.

I almost start spilling my guts right then, but the words don't come. I've become so used to keeping everything to myself, to bottling up my emotions, my troubles, even my triumphs. It's second nature to me now, to keep secrets, even when I shouldn't.

Is this a secret I should keep?

I consider that, for a moment. Back home, if I'd tried telling anyone I'd come from another world, I'd have gotten laughed at, or told not to indulge my imagination so much. Common sense would say that yes, I should keep this a secret, because nobody will believe me. Even if they did, they'd be more likely to try and use me than help me.

But what good is common sense, on the sea where sanity goes to die?

I know that I'm on the Grand Line; he said as much in the first words I heard. I've seen, through the lens of ink on paper, that the rules this sea will not break are few and far between. And I remember reading that this man has sailed its full length, start to finish.

If I want to reach out and take my freedom, then I could do worse than trusting someone who's already grasped that freedom for himself. So I nod, and try to speak past the blockage in my throat.

In the end, I manage to squeeze out a mention of the reality warper, and the existence of a place where the five seas and the Age of Piracy are just a story.

He looks down at me, and his expression hardens. I meet his piercing gaze for a few seconds, but it's not long before I surrender and shrink away. Then, finally, he speaks.

"So, what you're trying to say is that you're from another world, and as far as you're concerned, you've just been dropped into a work of fiction," comes the pronouncement, with all the gravity of a judge passing down a death sentence.

I nod meekly, unable to look up at him. The pressure in my chest almost convinces me that I'm being crushed by his sheer presence.

"Eh, I'll buy it. Wouldn't be the strangest thing I've seen," he dismisses, and the weight vanishes so suddenly I almost collapse. "You've got some kind of proof, right? Something you shouldn't know."

"Y-yeah." I've managed to beat back my anxiety somewhat, and now that I can manage to spare the attention to actually listen to the words coming out of my mouth, I discover that I...well, I actually kinda like hearing myself speak, now. Before, I'd want to cringe almost every time I opened my mouth. So I continue, and the sound of my new voice helps ease my nerves. "When you sailed with Roger, he had a terminal illness, and you were the only person who could stall it until he reached the end of the Grand Line. You don't tell anyone about that, right?"

The petals (are they actual flower petals, or just oddly-styled hair? I'd honestly believe either one) on his head bob as he nods. "That'll do it. If you know that, I'm guessing you already know my name?" Crocus gives me an expectant look, and I indicate that he's correct. "I'll skip my introduction, then. What should I call you?"

"Me? I'm, uh..." I almost give him my birth name out of long-standing habit; a name that just doesn't fit me anymore, if it ever really did. I've been waiting for a chance to be rid of it, and I'm not going to see a better chance than this. I quickly run through a few ideas in my head.

"I'm Lyn," is what I settle on.

He doesn't say anything for a few moments, and dread begins to pool in my gut. I hesitantly study his face, avoiding meeting his eyes as best I can while I try to decipher what's going on in his head. I can't shake the feeling that I've done something _wrong_ in giving him that name even though I know I haven't, and I desperately want to find something, some sort of reaction, because not knowing what he might think is worse than whatever I might find. If I know, then no matter how bad it is, it's set in stone, and I can deal with it. If I don't...then my traitorous, treacherous mind is free to dream up something so much worse.

"Alright," he finally responds, and reaches out a hand. "Here, let me help you up."

Not...quite what I was hoping for, but I suppose I can assume neutrality for now. With some small amount of trepidation, I grasp his hand with my own black-furred one and haul myself to my feet. Once I'm upright, Crocus looks me up and down, as though evaluating something about me. Whatever he's looking for, he seems to find it, because he continues, "So, you up for a bit of a swim?" and turns to—holy _hell_.

Turns to walk towards shore, where Laboon is waiting.

I don't realize I'm staring until Crocus speaks up again. "Well, if I hadn't already decided to believe you, that'd probably convince me. Can't imagine anyone who'd ever seen Zunisha reacting like that when they saw Laboon."

Zunisha? Oh. _Right_. The elephant carrying the kingdom of Zou. Curiosity piqued, I try to use the island whale as a point of reference to imagine what it'd feel like, to see Zunisha from the surface of the sea. I'm...not even remotely successful.

I sigh, dismissing the half-formed thought from my mind, and just follow after Crocus. It's probably best I leave that sort of thing alone. There'll be plenty of time to wonder at all of that when I see it. If I see it.

* * *

A week passes. In that time, I realize that there are quite a few things that have changed about my body and overall state of being; a good number more than there appeared to be when I faceplanted on arrival.

The most blatantly obvious change that's occurred is that I'm a fox mink now, rather than human. Some people might find this off-putting. Me? Honestly, I'm pretty okay with it. I'm significantly shorter than I used to be, which is fine. I hated banging my head on things, and my height always made me stand out just that little bit more. The fur covering my body is a smooth russet, for the most part. White runs down my front from my muzzle down onwards, where a four-legged fox's underbelly would be, and the red on my arms fades into black near my hands and feet. My tail's pretty darn fluffy, and it's tipped with more white, as though someone had dunked the end in paint. My senses of smell and hearing are both quite a bit better. I'm stronger, and more athletic; I wasn't a bad swimmer before, but I definitely couldn't have matched the pace Crocus set in the water. He had pointed out, that first day, that I'm not as fit as a Zou native would be, but that's fine. New World-class strength in Paradise would be entirely too much to ask for.

I'd also been biologically male before. Not anymore. I find small reminders of this change everywhere, and they (almost) never fail to put me in good spirits. While I hadn't been entirely unhappy with my old self, the fact that everyone I met saw me as someone I just straight-up wasn't had caused me no end of anguish. I hid it, of course, bottled it up inside so nobody could see, and if I'm honest, it'd been slowly killing me for quite some time.

When the Witness (the reality warper; they'd sent a note a few days in, apologizing for forgetting the introductions) made their offer, I was afraid. Absolutely terrified. I knew I'd want to take them up on it from the moment I understood exactly what they intended, but the idea of leaving behind everything I'd ever known induced such a fear that I nearly didn't. Without their prodding, I probably wouldn't have managed to say yes, honestly. I just...didn't know whether I'd ever be able to think it was worth it, casting it all aside for the promise of a mere possibility.

But no matter what this uncertain future holds, I've had a burden lifted that I never really thought would leave me. I don't feel the need to hide what I look and sound like, nor do I experience the...disconnect...that I'd become all too familiar with, in the months before. And that is worth the price, ten times over.

There are also a bevy of smaller changes, which I only really notice in passing. I no longer need glasses to see properly. I like eating seafood more than I used to. Headpats are _far_ too enjoyable (that was a slightly embarrassing discovery). You get the idea.

One of the few things that's more or less the same is my hair. I always liked my hair, even when I hated everything else, so I'm rather glad for that. It's still the sort of blonde that looks golden-brown, still tumbles down to about the bottom of my ribcage in slight waves, and it still does pretty much what it pleases. I've been giving some thought to braiding it to keep it out of my face, rather than just tying it back into a ponytail like I usually do, but Crocus claims he doesn't know how, and I certainly don't, so I suppose that'll have to wait.

As it turns out, not too much happens here, at the foot of Reverse Mountain. That, or it's just a slow week. Not a single vessel has passed by in my time here; really, the only interesting thing that happens is Laboon slamming his head against the Red Line. That's not to say I haven't been occupying myself, of course. Learning to throw a punch and take a hit seem like pretty important skills to learn if I want to go anywhere besides Twin Cape, and Crocus has been a half-decent teacher. Quoth he when I asked, "Even a doctor has to know how to hold his own out there."

Can't really argue with that. From how often I wind up eating dirt, I'd imagine he could do a little more than just "hold his own," which is all the better, or so I tell myself.

Unfortunately, there is one thing that he can't help me with, and it just so happens to be the one thing that I want to get down as quickly as possible: Electro, which turns out to be equal parts devilishly tricky and completely natural. Using it is something like flicking a switch; I issue the barest mental command and electricity wreaths my fingers, sensations of energetic warmth flickering and sparking at my skin so that my fur stands on end. Keeping it going, however...well, that's something I've not yet figured out with any consistency. It's only been a week, so I suppose I can't be too surprised by my relative lack of progress, but there's still a part of me that's disappointed. There's a lot of cool things I can think of doing with Electro, but I can't really _try_ any of them when it only lasts a few moments. So the ideas are just stuck bouncing around in my head, which is _infuriating_.

I'm sitting on the north bank of the Reverse Mountain current, messing around with what is probably enough voltage to reduce your average seagull to a blackened cinder, when an odd vessel comes rocketing down towards me. Its deck is both empty and elevated; the metal railing ringing it seems thin, and weak. There are masts, but no sails visible—though admittedly, from what I know about Reverse Mountain, sails wouldn't be necessary—and the whole of its hull is a bright yellow, the structure sloping outwards so that its widest point is likely underwater.

I watch its descent with interest, and as it hurtles past me, I spot a design emblazoned in black on its side. A grinning face, with six curving T-shaped protrusions forming the fragments of a larger circle around it.

That...is not the pirate crew I was expecting to meet here.

My head swivels to follow the ship's path as it bleeds momentum, swerving and coming to a stop within a short distance of the end of the cape. It hangs motionless in the water for a few moments before I spot five figures emerging onto the deck. Three of the figures wear very light clothing. The fourth is clad in mostly dark colors, and all four of them are gathered around the largest (though not quite the tallest), covered in orange. They're all very animated, save the dark one, speaking amongst themselves as they gaze off into the distance, towards the Grand Line proper.

One of the lighter figures apparently gets bored, because he splits off from the group and ambles over towards the side of the deck closest to shore. He moves to lean against the railing when all of a sudden he straightens, shading his eyes with a hand (though I'm pretty sure he's wearing a hat, so the gesture seems pointless). Waving one arm, he turns to yell back at the others, pointing back at the lighthouse once he's attracted their attention. I look away to check in the direction he's indicating, but...there's nothing going on over there. Everything looks exactly the same as it has for the last seven days.

When I turn back, the largest of the five looks excitable enough that I'm not sure I'd have been surprised if he rocketed straight up into the air. Instead of achieving orbit, though, he dashes back below deck. This is the Heart Pirates' vessel, so that'd be...Bepo, the bear mink, right? I'm not entirely sure what's got him so...

I can feel my fur ripple as the realization sends tension crackling through my body. My left hand, resting on the ground, clenches involuntarily, leaving a set of furrows where my claws scrape the dirt.

The other pirate had been pointing at me. Bepo must have gotten excited because he saw _me_ , another mink—probably the first since he left Zou. And now...now they're sailing over here, to meet me. I can feel their eyes on me; I know they've got their expectations already and I know I won't meet them. How could I? I've only been here a week, and all I've seen of this world is this tiny speck of land. Whatever it is they think they'll find in me, it's _not there_.

I take a deep breath before I can get too overwhelmed, and force the thoughts down to make room in my head, crushing them until they're a dense undertone rather than an all-consuming haze. Standing, I brush the loose soil off of my hand and walk slowly towards where the Heart Pirates are going to make landfall. I suppress any nervous shivers I might have had with expertise brought about by years of practice. My tail doesn't seem to have gotten the memo, however, because its tip is twitching jerkily back and forth.

...I'll get that under control eventually.

Putting that out of my mind, I look up to see that the ship has approached the shore just ahead of me. I offer the four men standing on the deck a wave that I hope comes across as casual. One, I recognize as the Surgeon of Death himself. I can put names to Penguin and Shachi thanks to their ridiculous hats, and that's...really the extent of my knowledge of this crew. The final member, wearing the same pale boiler suit as Shachi and Penguin, has messy, poofy brown hair as well as a grey bandana over his nose and mouth. I think I've probably seen him before, but if he was named in the manga, I can't remember it.

Law acknowledges me with a shallow nod, while the other three return my gesture with varying degrees of enthusiasm. None of them say a word.

Just as the silence is starting to get awkward, the door leading below deck flies open with a rattling crash and a tearful cry of, "Eleven yeeeeears!" And then I'm tackled to the ground by several hundred pounds of sobbing bear.

I freeze, for just a moment, and he's squeezing me hard enough that I can feel bones creak. Then I register that I'm pinned, _trapped, can't move._ Before I really know what I'm doing, I'm trying to shove him off of me. Between his size and my lack of leverage, I'm not very successful.

Luckily, he does notice what I'm doing, because he draws away, apologizing profusely once he's no longer on top of me. Two deep breaths to calm my nerves slightly before I haul myself to my feet, and I wave off his apologies. "It's alright, you just surprised me. I...don't like being hugged very much."

"Oh. Sorry."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the bandana-sporting pirate smack his hand into his forehead.

"My name's Bepo," he offers. "How'd you end up out here?"

"Lyn," I return, "and I'm not sure. I don't quite remember how it happened." A lie, of course, but...despite Crocus' reassurances that I can trust other minks enough to tell them, that they'll accept me regardless, part of me doesn't believe that anyone else would take it as well as him. Maybe I'll tell someone eventually, but right now, the mere thought of doing so nearly leaves me a quivering mess. So I decide not to think about it.

"Well, um, what's the last thing you _can_ remember?"

That resolution sure didn't last very long.

I feel myself go still as panic begins to well up in my gut. My mouth opens, and some sort of answer is trying to come out, but my voice is just _gone_.

Bepo waves his hands frantically. "It's okay, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to! I was just wondering! I..." He visibly wilts. "I thought it might help me figure out a way back..."

"Back?" I hear a whisper, and abruptly realize that I can speak again.

"Back to Zou. Eleven years ago, my brother left Zou, and I wanted to go with him, but when I tried to follow him, the sea took me somewhere else. I got so lost I ended up in the North Blue..."

"Oh." I shake my head. "I don't think I could help you. I've...never been to Zou."

He reels back, as though I'd physically slapped him. "What?!"

My ears and tail droop without permission. "I'm a bit of a special case," I mumble at the ground. "I know _of_ it, and I'd like to go, but..." I trailed off, not sure what else I can say. After staring at the dirt and grass for a few more seconds, I glance back up to Bepo, who's looking over towards the ship.

"Hey, captain! Can Lyn come with us?"

Wait, what?

Bepo starts and turns to face me again. I didn't mean to say that out loud...

"Law, Shachi, and Penguin all promised they'd help me find a way back to Zou. So, I figured, since we're going there anyway, maybe we could bring you along?" He wrings his hands. His voice sounds nervous, but...also a bit hopeful. I recognize that tone. I've heard it from my own mouth often enough to know that...he _wants_ this. He _wants_ me to come with him, even though he's just met me.

He barely knows more than my name, and yet...he still wants me along.

"I..." There's a lump in my throat, and I can't force my words around it.

"Well," comes a drawling third voice before I can manage to say anything more, "I don't see why not. So, what do you say?"

I glance over to see Trafalgar Law propping himself up by his elbows on the railing, his hands casually folded in front of him and a faint smirk on his face. At some point, the others must have gone below deck, because he's alone up there.

I can sort of understand why Bepo would want me to join the crew. I'm the first of his kind he's seen in years, never mind that I've only even been a mink for a week now (not that he knows that, but still). It makes some sense that he'd want to spend time with another mink in a world of humans. But why on earth would Law approve? After all, I'm a complete stranger; I haven't even spoken more than a few sentences yet.

How can he just...extend his trust like that?

I think back, to that last night in my family's house. I can hear a voice, in the back of my mind: " _It's your choice, and no one else's."_

Really, I can only give one answer.

I turn to face the captain of the Heart Pirates more fully, set my jaw, and get completely thrown off when Crocus yells, "What's going on over there?"

Law's gaze shifts, and I follow it to see the aged doctor stumping over towards us from the lighthouse. Right, he's been doing an inspection; doesn't call himself a lighthouse keeper for nothing, after all.

"Why would it concern you?" the pirate calls back easily.

"Why would it concern me?" Crocus growls, and fixes Law with a steely glare.

To his credit, Law's expression doesn't change. If anything, his smirk grows minutely under the pressure from Crocus.

Tension builds and comes to a head as the wills of the two men clash...then dissipates entirely when Crocus shrugs. "I'm a curious man, is all," he states.

I raise an eyebrow at him. He meets my gaze for just a moment, a twinkle in his eye. I guess you gotta find some way to amuse yourself, in a place like this...

"I'd hope, for your safety, that you have some control over your curiosity where pirates are concerned," comes the veiled threat from Law, and I barely manage to suppress a snort of laughter.

Crocus doesn't bother hiding his own chuckle, but changes the subject. "I can make a guess about what you three were talking about. You're trying to recruit her for your pirate crew, aren't you?"

"Bepo's the one doing the recruiting," Law fractionally inclines his head towards the bear mink, "but yes."

"I tend to get a little attached to my patients, so—"

"Patient?" I interrupt, slightly confused. "I was barely even hurt."

"That's true," he admits, "but I still wound up thinking of you as a patient of mine all the same."

"So you're a doctor, then?" Law interjects, earning a nod from Crocus. The pirate captain's posture relaxes somewhat. "I see. I happen to be a somewhat competent doctor myself, so I can personally assure her health, if that's your concern."

"That is good to hear," the old man admits, "but it's not quite what I was worried about." He folds his arms resolutely. "What kind of pirate crew are you running? If you're just a bunch of reckless looters, I'm afraid I'm going to have to object. Strongly."

"Crocus," I interject quietly, and wait until he turns his head to face me before I continue, "I think I can trust them." I look him dead in the eye, desperately hoping he figures out what I'm really saying.

Fortunately, the gleam of comprehension dawns on his face, and he takes a few steps so he's standing next to me. Clapping a hand on my shoulder, he looks down at me and gently points out, "If you're going to be a part of their crew, you'll need to tell them sooner or later. You understand that, right?"

"...Yeah. I'll handle it."

"Well. If you're determined to set out to sail the Grand Line, who am I to stop you?" He lifts his hand and makes to turn away, but I grab him before he can leave.

"Wait! I need to tell you..." I trail off, trying to find the right way to word this.

"There's a certain other pirate crew that will be coming through here soon. Their captain will do something to help Laboon." My voice is lowered, to try and keep Bepo and Law from overhearing. If they do...well. I'll figure it out.

He just looks down at me, resignation heavy in his voice as he speaks. "Can't do anything for a patient that doesn't want help."

"I know. Just...trust me, okay?"

"...I'm not going to hold out hope for a hopeless case."

"It's not hopeless. Not yet."

There's something unreadable in his expression as he concedes, "I'll trust that you know what you're talking about, but I won't believe it until I see it."

I release his arm, and he turns to walk away.

He doesn't go more than a few steps before I grit my teeth, swallow my anxiety, and call after him, "Thank you for taking care of me!"

Crocus halts in his tracks, and after a moment he shoots back, "Best way you can thank me is by making a name for yourself out there. Get yourself a bounty poster, so I can see you're doing just fine. Got it?" He looks back at me over his shoulder, and I can see a smile on his lips.

My head bobs in a nod, and I can feel a fierce grin spreading across my face. "Count on it."

The lighthouse keeper keeps walking, then, and I turn back to face the submarine, riding high on a strange boost of self-assurance. "If you'll have me, I'll sail with you. Captain."

Law's confident smirk hits me full force. "Welcome to the Heart Pirates, Lyn."

A cry comes from within the ship. "Pose is ready, Captain! We've got our heading!"

I hear Law mumble something before a blue-tinted field expands to envelop me. He utters another word under his breath, and the next moment I find myself standing next to him. Bepo dashes ahead while I recover from having been moved so abruptly, throwing open the doorway and thundering down the stairs. Law proceeds more calmly, and I move to follow.

He stops suddenly, blocking the entry. I halt a few feet away, mildly confused.

"You're hiding something about your past."

A nervous shiver threatens to overtake my hands.

Law—no, the captain turns to face me, expression flat.

"I don't care what your reasons are for concealing it from Bepo, but whatever it is you didn't tell him, I need to know. If taking you on is going to result in complications later down the line, I refuse to be caught off guard by them."

I clench my hands into fists to stop the shaking. My claws dig themselves into my palms just enough to hurt, but not enough to draw blood. "It won't come up. Ever."

His eyes flick down, attracted by the slight movement. "Maybe it won't. I can't take that on faith. If you don't want to tell everyone else, I won't make you, but before we move on from the next island, you either tell me, or you're gone. There's no room in my crew for a pirate who refuses to trust her captain. Understand?"

I nod sharply. "I understand."

Law inclines his head. "Good." The corner of his mouth ticks upward. "Now, let's see where we're going, shall we?"

The dark doctor descends into his ship.

"Of course, captain," I murmur to myself with a faint smile, and I follow after.

* * *

 **~X~**

 **I watch as the Polar Tang submerges, leaving a rapidly-vanishing wake pointing towards one of the first islands in the Grand Line. Even I'm not quite sure yet where they'll wind up, but that's part of the fun of this whole thing, isn't it?**

 **...There's no response. I know you're there, Witness. I know you're still watching, and I know you heard that. If you're anything like how I imagine you, you won't look away for a second. So please don't pretend that you're not.**

"...Why bother holding a conversation with me? After all, I am, as far as you're concerned, just a figment of your imagination. Talking to yourself is hardly productive."

 **Unless you're me, I reply blithely.**

 **I get the impression of a shaking head. They didn't seem to appreciate my little attempt at humor.** "I can't tell you anything you don't know yourself."

 **So what? I knew it, yes, but I still needed to** _ **hear**_ **it, even if it was just from you.**

"And that, I would imagine, is beginning to cross into the realm of another disorder. Not terribly helpful for improving one's mental health."

 **I'd hardly be a good writer if I weren't a little bit unhinged, I think. Besides, I'm not looking to solve all my problems. I just want to...find a way to live with myself.**

"Aren't we all," **comes the bitter response.**

 **There's not much I can say to that. Everyone has their own problems, and I suppose I must have touched on one of theirs. So I let silence reign for a time. But not forever. I'm conflicted, have been since I first started writing this, and I want an outside opinion. No, wait, that's a bad way to phrase that. I want to talk about it.**

 **I'm not quite like that, in real life. I never have been, honestly. So...isn't calling Lyn me, just a flat-out lie? Sure, she's similar to me, and I'm using my own responses as a baseline for hers. But that doesn't mean she** _ **is**_ **me, does it.**

"A lie, you say. Isn't that what you're doing here? You're lying to everyone who's reading this; after all, that's what telling a story is. It's lying so boldly that everyone starts to believe it, even if only for a moment. And as with all the best lies, this one you're telling right now is built around a core of truth. Is Lyn you? No, she isn't, but the thing that really separates Lyn from Cici is choice. She's making the choices you want to. What's stopping you from making those choices yourself?"

 **...Hang on, did you crib that whole thing from a book?**

"I already said, I can't tell you anything you don't know yourself."

 **Point. Still...like** _ **I**_ **already said, I needed to hear it, even if it's not telling me anything new.**

"...It _is_ harder to believe something when you're the one saying it. Though this whole situation certainly defies all logic on that front," **they mutter to themself.**

 **Hey, whatever works.**

 **And it does, I reflect as the Witness moves on, bemusement suffusing their presence. It really, truly does work, somehow, even if only just a little. Who'd have thought. I chuckle at the absurdity of my own mental state and tap my finger against the period key, an odd sense of fulfillment bringing a smile to my lips.**


End file.
